


every night I call your name

by kelidahauk



Series: crow black dreams [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Biting, Blow Jobs, Consensual Non-Consent, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Gun Kink, Hand Jobs, Hate to Love, Injury Recovery, Intimacy, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Sexual Tension, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, Tsukishima Kei is a Little Shit, Tsukishima Kei is a Mess, foes to hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelidahauk/pseuds/kelidahauk
Summary: As Tobio stepped into the living room, Tsukishima raised the gun, aiming it at him languidly.  A slow smile spread across his face and he had the audacity to look pleased with himself.“I believe you owe me an apology,” Tsukishima said, “for your actions last night.”  Tobio felt himself sputtering in indignation as the blond continued on, ignoring his protests. “You are my bodyguard.  That means you are supposed to be defending my body.  In direct defiance of that order, last night you laid your hands on me.”He had.  He’d laid his hands all over him.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: crow black dreams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845355
Comments: 30
Kudos: 151





	every night I call your name

**Author's Note:**

> In this series, Hitman Kageyama of the Karasuno crime family has been assigned to guard Lawyer Tsukishima, who is recovering [from getting jumped on the streets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25127758). What happens when you put two assholes together? They fight a lot, develop a begrudging respect, and catch the feels. Motherfucking Sugawara knew what he was doing when he assigned Tobio to bodyguard Kei: he's the original tkkg shipper in this AU, bless him.
> 
> There is fanart for this chapter! Check out [Kei in his too-short Versace robe](https://twitter.com/shadyzap2/status/1286440025702506497?s=21), as immortalized by the amazing ShadyZap!

Tobio was _tired._ “Take good care of him,” Suga-san had said, and Tobio always followed the orders issued by his wakagashira without question. But Tsukishima Kei was making his job incredibly difficult. Tobio was used to tough jobs, but he was also used to _killing_ the subject of his assignment. This was the worst job ever because he wasn’t supposed to murder Tsukishima in cold blood; rather, he had been tasked with the onerous burden of keeping the asshole alive. 

When he had been assigned to guard the cynical, sarcastic shingiin of the Karasuno crime family after he was brutally beaten on the streets, Tobio had expected his primary function would be to protect him, to kill any other would-be attackers who sought revenge. Instead, he found himself having to _care_ for him, as if he were a child, because he clearly couldn’t do it himself. And caring for Tsukishima Kei was _exhausting._

Tobio had to do the grocery shopping, because his current burden couldn’t be trusted to feed himself anything other than pastries from that stupid bakery he loved so much, _La Petit Shit_ _,_ or whatever the fuck it was called. Everything they served there was full of sugar and had zero protein, which was probably a contributing factor to the reason Tsukishima was so thin. He’d lost even more weight since he’d been attacked, and Tobio was worried that at this point, even Hinata could snap him in half like a twig. If he weren’t around to cook hearty breakfasts of miso soup and eggs and rice, he was sure Tsukishima would live off of muffins. One horrifying morning, he had even found him pouring Kahlua into a bowl of cereal because they were out of milk. 

Not only did Tsukishima not eat properly, his sleeping habits left a lot to be desired. He would lose track of time surrounded by case files and business reports and all sorts of other paperwork that Tobio couldn’t make heads or tails of, tucked behind his laptop and typing furiously. Then he’d demand that Tobio drive him to a business deal where he represented the family and they’d spend hours negotiating terms, before going home to repeat the cycle all over again. 

Tobio couldn’t force him to sleep like he could force him to eat healthy foods, but he had learned that if he turned on a movie and sat on the couch with him, he could distract the shingiin from his workload. Tsukishima enjoyed explaining movies to him, and he’d eventually fall asleep on the couch, his feet propped up on Tobio’s lap. He’d stopped trying to push them off after the first week, because that asshole was _persistent_ and it wasn’t worth the fight. Tsukishima slept more on the couch than he did in his own bed.

When Tobio awoke that morning, tangled in the sheets next to the man who had started out as his _current burden_ and could now possibly be considered his _friend_ \- if that was the proper word for what they were, now, after last night - he observed how deeply Tsukishima was still sleeping. It had been days since he had seen a bed, and Tobio thought he would probably sleep for several more hours. It was the perfect opportunity to slip out of the loft to pick up some groceries. 

With the stealth and grace that came from years of working as a hitman, Tobio untangled himself from Tsukishima’s slender limbs. He frowned as he looked down at him, counting his ribs and following the pattern of bruises across his chest. There was another trail of bruises spattered across his collarbones, as well as a dark shadow smudged just under his jawline, and those gave Tobio a particularly strange sense of pride. The knuckles on his left hand were swollen and bloody from throwing a punch. 

When Suga-san had assigned him to guard the shingiin, Tobio had not expected him to have any combat skills. And it was true: Tsukishima did serve the family in an administrative capacity, but the past couple of months had taught Tobio that he was also willing and able to get his hands dirty. When Karasuno swooped in to rescue Shiratorizawa from an attack two days prior, Tsukishima had led the ambush as the highest-ranking family member on the scene. Tobio had stuck to his side during the fight, equally terrified for his safety and aroused by how deftly he handled a blade.

Tobio knew it had been days since Tsukishima had really rested, so it was logical to expect him to sleep longer. Later, he would curse his naivete: he should have known by now that his expectations for the lawyer were always wrong. Tobio gathered intel on his targets, learning their habits and their mannerisms, striking carefully and precisely when he identified their weak spots. His targets very rarely surprised him once he'd had a chance to study them. After as much time as he'd spent with Tsukishima, he thought he should have been able to predict his next actions.   
  
He thought wrong. When he let himself back into the loft, burdened with bags full of eggs and rice and milk and strawberries, he discovered that Tsukishima was no longer asleep in his bed. Instead, he was sitting upright on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him, feet propped on the coffee table. The early morning sun slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the outer wall of the loft, turning his bedhead into a brilliant, fiery halo. As Tobio noticed all of these tiny details, he honed in on the most important one: currently, Tsukishima’s fingers were wrapped around the grip of one of Tobio’s handguns. 

_The .380,_ he noted, his mouth suddenly dry, his gut clenching. He had left it ~~in his room~~ in the guest room where he slept, and that was another thing he didn’t expect: that Tsukishima would go through his things. He had been nothing but respectful of Tobio’s space since they had been forced together as unwilling roommates. But there he sat, examining the .380 as if it were the first time he'd ever seen it, a neutral expression on his face. As Tobio stepped into the living room, Tsukishima raised the gun, aiming it at him languidly. A slow smile spread across his face and he had the audacity to look pleased with himself. 

“Welcome home,” he said, leveling the barrel directly at Tobio’s chest, his hand steady. “Look what I found lying around.”  
  
Tobio felt his blood run cold: his body’s natural reaction to danger. _Freeze, analyze, and attack._ Tobio remained very, very still, as he evaluated the situation before him. “Teach him how to shoot better,” Suga-san had said. “His aim is terrible. He can’t hit the broad side of a barn.” But Tobio hadn’t yet found the time to take Tsukishima to the range buried deeply beneath the Karasuno casino, where they could safely hone their shooting skills in the middle of Tokyo. 

Staring down the barrel of the gun, Tobio thought Suga must have been joking. Tsukishima held the gun as if he had years of experience, peering carefully down the sight with narrowed golden eyes. He looked confident, completely in control of the situation before him. Tobio felt something dangerous spark within him. 

Moving slowly, so slowly, Tobio took a few more steps into the large open space so he could set the bags of groceries down on the small dining room table. Tsukishima tracked his movements with the gun, keeping his lazy smile fixed in place. Under his gaze, Tobio could feel his skin starting to flush. He was entirely unused to being the prey.

Tsukishima hadn’t bothered getting dressed. Instead, he had wrapped himself in _that goddamned Versace robe_ that drove Tobio wild. It was what he had been wearing when Karasuno’s medic had released him into Tobio’s custody, after the attack that had nearly cost him his life. The medic, Nishinoya Yu, was at least a foot shorter than Tsukishima and the robe was obviously sized for him. The whole effect was ridiculous: the opulent gold and black fabric fit him more like a shirt, barely covering his ass, leaving his forearms bare. Still, Tobio had spent that entire drive home fixated on the sight of Tsukishima’s bare thighs, his throat dry, as it was now. He hadn't realized Tsukishima had noticed the effect the robe had on him, or that he even still had it. That motherfucker had apparently kept it in reserve for the moment he could use it to best fuck Tobio's world up.

He swallowed, thickly, his eyes once again drawn to the lawyer’s bare legs. He hadn’t been able to see them under the sheets, earlier, but they were also mottled with bruises. Tobio could make out long, slender marks, as if someone had struck Tsukishima with an iron-cored practice bokken. There were smaller smudges, too, as if someone had gripped his thighs too tightly in a misguided fit of passion. Tobio longed to fit his hands back into those marks.

“What--” he said, trying to spit the words out. They stuck, so he tried again. “Why do you have my gun?” It was infuriating, the way his tongue felt thick in his mouth when he had a million different questions to ask. _Why are you doing this?_ was first among them, followed quickly by, _and why do I like it so much?_

Because he _did_ like it. There was something that was just so incredibly _hot_ about Tsukishima pointing his own gun at him, his features deceptively calm while his trigger finger rested high on the barrel, pretending to be as confident with Tobio’s weapon as he was with his own knives. Tobio forced himself to breathe steadily, forced his fists to relax, forced his face to remain calm. But he couldn’t hide the tell-tale blush spreading across his cheeks. He’d had guns pulled on him multiple times in the past, but he’d never gotten this sort of _thrill_ from being held in the crosshairs. His third question would be, _Why must it be you? Of all people? Why have you fucked my world up?_

“I believe you owe me an apology,” Tsukishima said, “for your actions last night.” Tobio felt himself sputtering in indignation as the blond continued on, ignoring his protests. “You are my bodyguard. That means you are _supposed_ to be defending my body. In direct defiance of that order, last night you laid your hands on me.”

He had. He’d laid his hands all over Tsukishima, to punish him for being so careless about his own safety and health. After Tsukishima had easily defended Tobio’s attacks with the practice swords, he’d efficiently proved his prowess with his fists, instead. And Tsukishima had responded in a way to those actions that Tobio had _not_ expected. At that point, he had proceeded to lay his hands all over Tsukishima again, in a much different manner, one that had left them both panting and gasping in the darkened loft, culminating in the best few hours of sleep Tobio had ever had in his life.

Tobio swallowed. He could tell Tsukishima was enjoying this, that absolute _asshole._ He kept the gun trained on Tobio’s chest, but his gaze drifted downward and the smile on his face turned into a smirk. Tobio didn’t have to look down to know what Tsukishima was smirking at. He could feel that he was already half-hard in his jeans, turned on by the gun and the bare legs and the sheer _confidence_ Tsukishima exuded. His face was on fire, and he fought the desperate urge to look at the ground. Some primal instinct forced him to keep his eyes focused on both the gun and the pretty boy holding it. 

“I did,” Tobio managed to say. “I thought you liked it.”

“Oh, I _did,_ ” the lawyer was practically purring, and the low timbre of his voice sent a vibration through Tobio that he could feel in his very bones. His whole world was fucked up, inside and out. “I liked it very much. But you know what else I would like very much?”

“What?” Tobio asked, swallowing again. Talking had been easier last night, when he had been fueled by anger at Tsukishima’s irresponsible behavior. That raging fire had been well and truly fucked out of him, leaving behind a feeling of warmth and contentment that he’d never experienced before. Tobio had turned soft in his efforts to _care_ for that arrogant asshole. Mentally, he cursed himself for his lapse in judgement. He seemed to be making a lot of those lately, all of them centered around Tsukishima, who had apparently sucked Tobio into his gravitational pull and sent him spinning. He needed to keep a closer eye on him. Clearly, he couldn't trust Tsukishima, if the way he had let himself into ~~Tobio's room~~ the guest room and pilfered his gun was any indication as to how he viewed ~~this relationship~~ whatever this was.

“I’d like for you to take off your clothes,” Tsukishima said, gesturing with the .380. “Right now, if you please.” 

Tobio’s protests died in his throat as he met Tsukishima’s gaze. His gold irises were thin rings, blown wide by dilated pupils. A hint of pink dusted his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. He looked at Tobio like he was hungry, and it surprised Tobio that he was even able to interpret that look: Tsukishima rarely had an appetite, but right now he appeared to be downright _ravenous_. Tobio felt himself grin. _He's getting off on this, too._

Kageyama Tobio was known in the underworld as the Black Dog, the Karasuno crime family’s assassin. Each yakuza syndicate had a number one hitman and they all worked in different ways. Tobio preferred the elegance, the precision of a long-range sniper rifle. He’d spend hours stalking his target, setting up his equipment to make a single, perfect shot. But just because that was his preferred method of murder didn’t mean that was what always happened, when it came down to it. It was always possible for someone else to get the drop on him. And so he took great care with his body, because it was his best weapon and his last line of defense. He spent hours in the gym, weight lifting and running. He trained with a variety of guns, knowing how to make the slightest adjustment to his aim by feel alone. He’d been practicing kendo with Tsukishima, learning how to better himself with bladed weapons. Tobio was well aware of how fit he was. He _had_ to be, to survive in his job. He was going to make Tsukishima _pay_ for this. If he wanted a show, Tobio would give him one.

Tobio kept his eyes fixed on Tsukishima’s as he curved his fingers under the front of his black t-shirt. It was soft and fitted, and he knew it made his biceps and abs look even more impressive. That was a calculated measure, meant to intimidate his targets if he met them face-to-face. Right now, Tsukishima was his target, and Tobio was going to do his best to ~~drive him mad~~ intimidate the fuck out of him. Slowly, he peeled the shirt up over his torso, pulling it over his head with one smooth motion. He dropped it to the floor next to him, twisting slightly so Tsukishima could get a better look at the crow tattoo spreading over his left side. He knew the blond liked his _irezumi._ Drugged out of his mind when Tobio had first brought him home, he'd asked to see his Karasuno crow, since he would need to get one as soon as possible for his own protection. When Tobio had complied, he'd asked reverently if he could _touch it_ , and had spent several minutes tracing burning lines across the bird with his fingertips. 

Tsukishima’s eyes roved over his stomach and chest, lingering over the symbol that bound them together. He swallowed once, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the hollow of his throat before he waved the gun again. Tobio wanted to lick it, bite him, sink his teeth into the curve of his shoulder. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” Tsukishima said, the warning in his voice clear.

Tobio huffed with indignation as he stepped on the toes of his socks, pulling out one foot and then the other. He used his big toe to push them to the side with his shirt. He didn’t bother to stop there: he knew what Tsukishima wanted. And if this were some sort of contest, some sort of fight to establish dominance over whatever this… _thing_ that was growing between them was… Tobio refused to lose. 

Keeping his expression carefully blank, he slowly unbuttoned his jeans. Even more slowly, he unzipped them. His eyes never left Tsukishima’s, whose lips parted just a little as he watched Tobio carefully slide his jeans off of his hips. He stepped to the side, nudging the pile of softened denim so it joined the rest of his clothing. Cocking his head to the side, he gave Tsukishima his most challenging look before raising his arms above his head in a full-bodied stretch. 

Tobio spread his fingertips wide, reaching for the ceiling, then slowly brought his arms back down as his rolled his head from side to side. Shrugging his shoulders, he stretched one and then the other, feeling his muscles relax under the familiar routine. He stole a glance at Tsukishima, who was watching him raptly, a blank expression on his face. And then, as if he didn’t have a concern in the world, Tobio hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his black boxer briefs and slid them down his own toned thighs, allowing them to drop to the floor with the rest of his clothing.

He didn’t bruise as easily as Tsukishima, but Tobio knew he still had some marks on him from the previous night. He could feel one on his neck, and there was a dark purple blob the size of his fist right above his navel where Tsukishima had nailed him with the tip of his iron-cored bokken, knocking the wind out of him. It had been a good, solid blow. He felt his cock twitch when he thought about that fight, and he reminded himself to breathe, to relax. On the couch, Tsukishima smiled his predatory smile.

“Satisfied?” Tobio asked, standing naked in front of both Tsukishima and God as he desperately tried to convince himself they weren’t one and the same.

Tsukishima looked like he was pondering that question, affording it the same weight and consideration he gave to the family’s legal and financial matters. “No,” he said, finally. “I don’t think I am.”

Tobio scowled. “What the fuck do you want, then?” he said, his irritation making the words come easier to his lips. He had assumed his brazenness would have shut Tsukishima up. _Fuck me, I have to stop underestimating this asshole,_ he thought.

“Last night,” Tsukishima said, “you put your hands on me against orders. If that was so much fun…” he trailed off, looking Tobio up and down once again, the color rising on his face. “I want to see how much fun it can be when you’re ordered to put your hands on me. So, _Black Dog_ , as the highest ranking member of the Karasuno family in this room: I'm ordering you. Put your hands on me.”

Tobio couldn’t stop the soft whine that escaped him at the command. It felt like every ounce of blood in his body rushed, all at once, to concentrate directly in his crotch. The spark he’d felt ignite earlier positively _exploded._ Tobio dug his fingers into his palms at the force of his desire, willing himself to stay perfectly still, pretending that he were still the predator and not Tsukishima's prey. He couldn't quite convince himself.

“Well?” Tsukishima said impatiently, raising his brows, keeping the gun aimed at Tobio. “You have your orders. Come touch me.” With his left hand, he untied the belt to that damn Versace robe, allowing the soft flaps of fabric to fall open around him. Tobio’s eyes first caught the ragged, angry scar on his lower right side, where he’d taken a knife wound that was still slowly healing. The next thing they caught was an eyeful of cock. Tsukishima was as hard as Tobio felt.

Tobio was on him in an instant, a consummate predator loosed on his prey. He straddled Tsukishima’s waist, one thigh pressed on either side of his. _Shut him up,_ he thought, capturing his lips with a long-suffering groan, _shut him up_. As he crushed Tsukishima’s jaw in his hands, he felt the barrel of the gun dig into his abs, and he made a startled sound at that sensation. Tsukishima licked at his lips and he parted them, stroking their tongues together as he tangled his fingers in those damned golden curls. The gun suddenly pressed harder against him, and Tobio pulled back, looking down at Tsukishima in confusion. His chest was heaving and his eyes were glazed over, but he still nudged Tobio with the gun.

“That’s not where I want your mouth,” Tsukishima said, his voice low and rough. Tobio blinked at him, and the blond sighed as if he were annoyed. With his left hand, he reached out to gently touch Tobio’s jaw. He thumbed at the corner of his lips, and Tobio automatically sucked the finger into his mouth. Tsukishima nodded, seriously. “You’re getting the idea,” he said, and then he drew the gun up Tobio’s torso. 

The cold steel traced its way up his chest and neck and he shivered, his breathing harsh. The gun settled at his temple, and Tsukishima used it to push his head down. Tobio allowed the gun to force him off the couch, moving to sit back on his heels on the ground before it. His face drew level with slim hips swathed in soft gold and black fabric. _That goddamn Versace robe,_ Tobio thought as he placed his hands on Tsukishima’s knees, sliding them up and underneath the offending fabric, his thumbs methodically drawing circles on the pale flesh. 

“You have two options,” Tsukishima said, his voice trembling and his eyes dark with lust. “You can blow me, or I can blow your brains out. Which will it be?” The gun at Tobio’s temple led weight to the words and he could feel his whole body vibrate, pulled as tight as a bowstring with his need to devour Tsukishima whole. His skin prickled as goosebumps spread across his flesh.

Tobio didn’t bother trying to answer. He had a difficult enough time talking under regular circumstances; he was positive he couldn’t form a coherent word to save his life under these. Prior to this very moment, if he’d been asked to detail his deepest, darkest desire, he would not have known it was this: to have blond-headed, foul-mouthed Tsukishima, _that arrogant asshole shingiin_ , point a gun at him and demand that he suck his dick. Now Tobio found himself wondering what other delightfully depraved things Tsukishima could demand of him at gunpoint in the future. 

He was determined to find out, so he started with a tentative lick. Tsukishima jolted underneath him as Tobio ran his tongue along the bottom of the shaft, lightly tracing the vein he found there. _Oh,_ he thought dimly through the haze of his lust as Tsukishima made soft sounds, _he liked that._ He opened his mouth and sucked the head between his lips, continuing to lap at the underside with his tongue. Tsukishima whined loudly in encouragement and Tobio felt the gun fall away from his temple. He wasn't going to let that that stop him: instead, he sunk lower on Tsukishima’s cock, thick and heavy and wet with his saliva, until his nose touched the soft patch of dark blond hair at the base.

Tsukishima issued a long, drawn-out moan, and Tobio’s eyes shot up to look at him. He had relaxed fully into the back of the couch, the gun lying forgotten on the cushion next to him. Both of his hands were digging into the cushions beneath him, his fingers white-knuckled. Experimentally, Tobio bobbed his head up and down, watching Tsukishima writhe on the cushions. His head was thrown back, his mouth open, and he panted as he squirmed. He looked completely and utterly debauched. It was simultaneously the sexiest and most satisfying thing Tobio had ever witnessed.

He felt himself make a noise, _wanting_ , his mouth full of Tsukishima’s cock. The blond felt it too, because he jolted sharply once again. He lifted his head to look down at Tobio, and his eyes widened as they made contact.

“Goddamn,” he swore, sounding _absolutely wrecked._ “Can you just… fucking... stay like that forever, please?” His hands left the couch to lightly touch Tobio’s face, to trace his lips around his cock and finally, to tug at his hair. “It’s so fucking nice when you’re not frowning.”

Tobio huffed in lieu of laughing and went back to bobbing his head up and down with a renewed vigor. Tsukishima jerked his up again, involuntarily. “Sorry,” he gasped, his hands tightening in Tobio’s hair. “It just-- it feels _so fucking good_.” Tobio dug his fingers into Tsukishima’s hips as he slid his lips down again, lifting in encouragement as if to say, _go on, do it._

“...oh,” Tsukishima said, his voice dazed as he realized what Tobio wanted. “Okay, then.” And he started fucking Tobio’s mouth in earnest with his movements, rocking his hips forward.

Tobio was so hard it hurt. He let out the closest thing he'd ever made to a whimper in his life as his neglected cock throbbed. Taking his right hand off of Tsukishima’s thigh, he grasped for his own cock while he kept his lips fixed around the blond’s, desperate for touch. He swallowed on reflex when he wrapped his fingers around it, and Tsukishima cried out as his cock hit the back of his throat. When Tobio let out his own muffled moan, stroking himself, Tsukishima grabbed wildly at his shoulders.

“No,” he panted, tugging at Tobio’s hand. “No! You-- you wanted to put your hands on _me._ So put them _both_ on me, right now. That’s an _order._ ” 

Tobio whined around his mouthful of cock, but he regretfully complied. Orders were orders, and the Black Dog of Karasuno followed them, no matter how much he disagreed with them. That's how he'd gotten into this situation in the first place. " _Take good care of him_ ," Suga-san had said, and now he was naked on the floor in Tsukishima's apartment with his mouth wrapped around his cock. He forced himself to let go.  
  
To occupy his right hand, he slid it underneath Tsukishima's ass, digging his fingers into the warm flesh. With his left, he delicately cupped his balls, feeling the heat pulsate against his palm. Breathing deeply through his nose, he sunk down even further on Tsukishima’s cock, feeling the blunt head press against the back of his throat. Again, Tsukishima moaned. The hand he had laced through Tobio’s hair tugged at it, trying to pull him _up_ and _off_ ; Tobio refused to comply, glowering at Tsukishima.

“I’m going to come, you asshole,” Tsukishima tried to say, except it came out more as a series of ragged, desperate moans. Tobio looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Then he narrowed his eyes and glared, sucking as if he were trying to pull his soul out of his body through his cock, his cheeks hollowing.

“ _Fuck, Tobio_ ," Tsukishima swore, passionately, his back arching and his hips fully leaving the couch, desperately burying his cock in Tobio’s mouth. And then Tsukishima was crying out and coming all at once, his mouth thrown open and his nose scrunched up and his eyes rolled back in his head. It was everything Tobio could do to swallow and not choke as his mouth was filled with a rush of warmth, thick and salty.

Tsukishima shuddered beneath him, collapsing back onto the couch. Tentatively, Tobio slid off of him with one last lick, sitting back on his heels and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He was pleased by the picture before him: Tsukishima was red and splotchy and soaked with sweat, his hair a wild mess and a look of sheer disbelief and contentment on his face. _Tobio,_ he had cried as he came, not _Kageyama._ All at once, Tobio was desperate for his own release. He dug his fingers into Tsukishima's hips.

“Kei,” he said, his voice strangled and the word unfamiliar as it slipped past his lips. He tried again. _“Kei, I need--”_

The hands untangled themselves from his hair, and Tobio was being tugged up to the couch again. Kei pulled him onto his lap, arranging his knees on either side of his hips so Tobio was straddling him. Their lips met again in another kiss, this one long and lingering and sweet. He wondered if Kei could taste himself on his tongue. 

“You can touch yourself now, if you’d like,” Kei said as he broke the kiss, sounding every bit the magnanimous dictator he was proving himself to be. “...Tobio,” he added as an afterthought, the name soft on his lips.

Tobio wasted no time in wrapping a hand around his cock, giving it quick, hard jerks in time with his stuttered breathing. Kei took his other hand and pulled it forward, placing it on his chest, right above his heart. "Feel what you did to me," he said, his mouth inches from Tobio's ear.   
  
Tobio could feel it pounding wildly beneath his palm and he matched his strokes to its frantic beat, shuddering at the sensation of breath across his earlobe. When Kei reached out to rub his thumbs teasingly over Tobio’s nipples, taking his earlobe between his teeth, he came undone. His come spurted over Kei’s abdomen, painting him in a white just a few shades paler than his alabaster skin as Tobio panted raggedly.

Kei kissed him again, his lips soft and gentle and trembling. _That was his style,_ Tobio thought somewhere in the back of his brain, _talk tough and taste sweet._ The man was a _goddamn nightmare_ and Tobio knew it would take him ages to figure out how his brain worked, because he defied logic and all things rational. Tobio had spent enough of his time these past few months divided between wanting to punch Kei in his fucking face and wanting to fuck him in his fucking face. Maybe he’d do both. For the meantime, he focused on the kiss and Kei’s heartbeat, solid and steady and speeding under his palm. 

Some time later, as both their frantic breathing and their heartbeats slowed to something closer to normal, Tobio nuzzled into his neck, sighing softly in contentment. Kei leaned his cheek against him, tracing circles on his back with his long fingers. In a tentative voice he asked, “Was that okay?”

Tobio rolled off of his lap, electing instead to sit next to him, their bare thighs pressed together, the goddamn Versace robe tossed to the side and forgotten. He looked at him mutely as he picked up the gun. Kei watched him eject the magazine - _empty._ Tobio slid the barrel back, checking the chamber - _empty_. The fucking thing had been unloaded the entire time. Tobio glared at him without a word, knowing his steely blue gaze would communicate everything he felt. Somehow, over the past few months, the shingiin had gotten better at reading the hitman than the hitman was at reading the shingiin. 

“I didn’t want to _actually_ shoot you,” Kei explained, his tone apologetic. “I just… I noticed how you got, before, when I held your gun. And how you got last night, with the bokken. I thought you’d like it.”

Tobio hummed, then sat the gun aside and leaned over to trace his tongue over the shell of Kei’s ear. “I did,” he admitted softly, his lips brushing against the earlobe. “A lot.”

“Good,” Kei said, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “And I’m willing to concede this rematch. This time, you won.”

“I did,” Tobio nodded in agreement, pleased with himself. “You’re _fucking wrecked.”_

“I am,” Kei acknowledged his claim with a nod. “That means we’re one for one. Next bout wins the tournament.”

“You’re going down,” Tobio declared, smiling a challenging smile as their lips met again. “You’re gonna get _fucked_.”

“No,” Kei said, his voice thoughtful and his lips as soft as always, “I think you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title was inspired by the song [Burn by The Cure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfTkL-ZHDCY), which I consider to be Lawyer Tsukki's theme. 
> 
> La Petit Shit, purposefully bastardized, is a direct reference to [Batman's Jaywalkers series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/258901).
> 
> You can follow me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/kelidahauk) if you appreciate sword kinks, the foes to hoes trope, and excessive profanity.
> 
> We have a TKKG Thirst Discord server! [Come join us to chat about TKKG!](https://discord.gg/7wGBcyH) Only 18+ and older, please; there is a lot of NSFW content there.


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